


Nomenclature

by LorettaFryingPan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Names, Nebulous backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorettaFryingPan/pseuds/LorettaFryingPan
Summary: "Well you see, they wanted a boy.."Beau takes what is given, and makes it hers.





	Nomenclature

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fascinated by Beau since she showed up. I feel like she's got a lot of interesting layers, and her comment about her name gave us a bit of a glimpse into her, I feel. I also really like the significance of names, and playing with that in fiction.
> 
> Some required listening for this fic is "Scuffle" by Doomtree. The quote at the beginning is taken from it, and it's my song for Beau.

**_[i didn’t catch you sayin’ grace, motherfucker/so tell me, how does my name taste?/spit it out and tell me/how does my name taste?]_ **

/\/\/\ 

 

 

“Beauregard? That’s a big name for a girl your size.”

The monk who says this looks at her with a smile, like his pretty blue robes and the fancy symbol around his neck mean that he _understands_ her, that they’re friends.

She just wants to break his nose.

“Yeah, well, my parents wanted a boy. But then I happened!” She shrugs, baring her teeth in what could only be called a smile if one was feeling very charitable. “But they’d already picked out the name, and I’d already disappointed them enough, so they stuck with it.”

The smile on the monk’s face falters. Good.

 

~*~

 

Two years later and ‘Beauregard’ becomes ‘Beau’ becomes ‘oh joy, it’s _fucking_ Beau’.

It doesn’t bother her.

She spends her days cracking her knuckles against trees, swinging staves with increasing precision, and learning how to kick ass from anyone who’ll talk to her for more than thirty seconds. Half the monastery hates her and she can hear it in their voices, but she can’t bring herself to care when one of the sisters knocks her halfway across the courtyard and shouts “you’re getting there, Beau!” with something approaching pride in her voice.

She’s got blood in her teeth, but it tastes so sweet.

 

~*~

 

The first time she sees his name written, she thinks it’s a joke.

“Fjord.”

“Yeah?”

“So that’s how it’s said. Not Fjord?”

“That works too.” 

“So you’re cool if I call you Fjord.” She drags every last consonant over her teeth like metal across a piece of slate, and is rewarded with his grimace but no real reprisal comes. He’s surprisingly easygoing, although given whom he’s traveling with he probably needs to be.

“Maybe not that one.”

“But it doesn’t bother you?” She asks.

He shrugs, and turns his attention back to his dinner. “Not so much. Lotta worse things a person can be called.”

And she knows that, she figures he’s heard more than a few; half-orcs cut intimidating figures, but that doesn’t mean people stop being shitty.

But she knows what it’s like to hate the sound used to call you. And she’ll take the fact to her grave and never tell a soul, but she doesn’t want to be the one making someone else feel like that. 

Fjord glances over at her, and seems to read something in her face. “Tell you what,” he says. “I take issue with any of your more creative choices, I’ll let you know. Till then, don’t worry yourself about it.”

She can do that.

 

~*~

 

“Your mother named you Jester?”

Jester’s laugh is like bells at her question, like Beau has just made some wonderful joke. Or maybe Beau is the joke.

“No, silly! I named me Jester.” She pats Beau’s shoulder like she’s speaking to a particularly dull child, and Beau would take offense if it weren’t so charming.

Jester is awfully lucky that she’s so cute.

“You see, when a Tiefling is old enough, we choose our own name! Sometimes we name ourselves after something we like, or something we want to be, things like that. My mother said it’s called a ‘virtue name’.” 

“And you chose Jester. Why?" 

“Well that is a very personal choice Beau, I don’t know if I know you well enough yet.”

She can’t argue with that, and shrugs agreeably.

Undeterred, Jester claps her hands excitedly. “But someday we will know each other that well! I hope. And I hope you will tell me all about your name too!”

“Sure,” Beau replies, because who knows.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, I’m Nott,” the girl says, and it’s disconcerting to hear her talk and not see her lips moving.

They’re all very aware at this point that she’s a goblin, and Beau’s never met a goblin before. She has no idea if that’s a customary goblin name or if goblins just pick words from Common and use them as names, like what some humans do with Elvish. 

‘Not what?’ is what she wants to ask, but that’s a line of questioning she’s not keen to have turned on her.

‘Beauregard’ is supposed to mean ‘highly regarded’, after all.

 

~*~

 

Yasha is tall, and statuesque, and intimidating as all fuck.

So naturally Beau can’t help herself. She hangs around Yasha, makes idle conversation just to hear her deep voice. She’s yet to make Yasha laugh, but to be honest Beau’s not sure if Yasha has ever laughed, so she doesn’t consider that a failing on her part.

They’re leaving town shortly, and Yasha is going off to do whatever it is she does when she’s not around. They’ve made plans to meet up in the northeast, a couple towns over. Before she strides off into the woods, Yasha nods in her direction.

“See you there, Beau.”

She’ll never get tired of hearing that.

 

~*~

 

“The mollymauk floatin’ on his wide white wings, and lord what a lonely song he sings, down upon the southern ocean, sailing down below Cape Horn”

The cart is rolling slowly northward on the amber road, and Fjord is sitting at the reins, softly singing. Beau doesn’t think he even realizes he’s doing it-it sounds like an old sea shanty, but she can hear the words clearly enough.

Molly, for his part, is reclining in the back of the cart staring at the clouds. He’s an ostentatious smartass, and Beau can barely stand him, but he’s handy enough in a fight. And hell, she’s curious.

“Did you choose Mollymauk?” She asks walking alongside the cart.

“...The fuck are you on about?” Is his eloquent reply.

“Your name. Mollymauk. Did you choose it?” She gestures to Fjord, who’s finished his song and seems to be dutifully trying to ignore the conversation behind him. “Jester told me she picked out her name, that it was a Tiefling thing.”

He sits up at that, and she is treated to the sight of him staring at her, one eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline. It’s always a little eerie looking Molly in the eye since he has no real pupils.

“And you think I’d choose to name myself after a bird that never lands, and carries the souls of drowned sailors?” He lies back down, and that seems to be that.

She realizes a while later that he never actually answered her.

 

~*~

 

“Caleb.”

Caleb flinches, looking up from his book to meet her eye. He looks spooked, and also kinda like he’s not entirely sure she’s not about to hit him.

“Yes, Beauregard?”

Caleb always looks a little scared at everything, though, even if he’s good at keeping his voice even and his spine straight. He always seems to expect that everything will go terribly, and plans accordingly.

It’s kinda why she likes him. What she isn’t too fond of is him sticking to using her whole gods-damned name.

“Why do you call me that?”

“That is your name, is it not?”

“Well yeah,” she blusters, not expecting that sort of response, “But it’s long. Everyone else just calls me Beau.”

He puts his book down and shuts it, giving her a considering look. “If you cast a spell and do not say everything properly, it will go terribly wrong. It is not in my nature to change people’s names, even for the sake of convenience. To call you something that you are not is beyond rude.”

Which actually makes sense, so she can’t bring herself to be mad at it. But there’s still that tiny sting-less than it used to be, but still present-that she feels every time he rolls out all three syllables, even if it’s not coming from him.

She sits down across from him, not entirely sure what to say. She wants to hit something, and she’s not sure why. She just scratches along the grain of the table, gathering her thoughts.

Luckily, Caleb seems to have an idea of what to say so he speaks. “But nothing stays the same forever. And gods know I have been wrong before. If I have been calling you something that you are not, I apologize. Beau it is.”

She nods. “It’s fine.”

“It is perfectly understandable to put something down because the weight of the past is too much. I hope I did not place that burden back on your shoulders.”

She thinks, maybe, it’s not so heavy anymore. She doesn’t hear the disappointment anymore, when people say her name. She doesn’t hear the dismay, or annoyance. She doesn’t hear the echoing of the gulf between her name and the person she turned out to be. It’s been drowned out by the people who shout it in joy, or concern, or pride. Maybe that sting can finally go away. She can take the yoke that her parents laid around her neck and make it hers. 

“I’ll let you know?” She replies. Caleb nods, and opens his book with a soft smile.

“That’s all I could ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man this story came to me in a burst of inspiration and I wrote it all in one sitting. Which, on the one hand, was a wonderful buzz of inspiration. But on the other hand (my right hand, which has tendonitis), it hurt. #noregerts
> 
> Thank you to those of you who left such lovely comments on my previous fics. I love you guys :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at lorettafryingpan, and my fic blog is djin-and-djuice! Come say hi!


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